


honey, baby, sweetheart

by theonewiththelarrystories



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:50:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewiththelarrystories/pseuds/theonewiththelarrystories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has special names for Harry. Harry loves them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	honey, baby, sweetheart

It was something Louis always did, even before they started dating. Terms of endearment just kind of happened, they flowed off his tongue in the most natural way. He tossed around “love” and “babe” like they were Harry’s real name, until he grew accustomed to it, expected it even. 

 

Harry was a special case, though. Louis didn’t go around calling the other boys the things he called Harry, he saved them for his favorite curly headed boy and used them for him only most of the time. After they started dating, the words took on a whole new meaning and there were loads more of them, being yelled across the house or groaned in the dead of night, used in everything from comfort to conversation to dirty talk. 

 

It didn’t matter what context it was in, whenever Louis called him by a special name he reserved for him only him, Harry got the kind of butterflies that beat against your stomach so hard they make you a little woozy in the best possible way. He tried to hide how pleased it made him and he did well most of the time, but he knew Louis could tell on a few rare occasions how special he felt when Louis called him something sweet. 

Harry didn’t know why, but Louis’ pet names made him come undone and weak at the knees. He supposed it had something to do with how names like that were reserved for people in love, and the fact that it was Louis who was calling him them meant that Louis loved him. 

When Harry was sad, just a simple “darling” or “sweetheart” could lift him up again, make him feel as though nothing could ever go wrong as long as he stayed Louis’ “darling” or “sweetheart” or whatever Louis’ chose for him that day. When he was happy, “baby” or “love” or “honey” made his eyes twinkle even more, his lips curve up in the pleased smile it seemed only Louis could put there.

The other boys teased him about it, saying some of the things Louis called him were “girly,” but Harry really didn’t care. So what if Louis called him “pumpkin” or “sweetie” or “gorgeous” or “my beautiful boy?” Harry loved it and it wasn’t any of their business anyway. It didn’t make him feel emasculated in any way, just made him feel like he was making Louis happy. 

 

It was a thing, Harry realized one morning when he was suffering from a sore throat as Louis made him tea and presented it to him with a kiss on the temple and a “here you are, sugar.” 

A blush spread up his cheeks and down his neck to his chest and he smiled so wide his face hurt a bit. “Sugar” was a new one and Harry figured it was probably because Louis was just putting sugar in his tea, but he really loved it. 

He loved all of them, for reasons previously unknown to him, until now. It wasn’t necessarily sexual for him, (though it most certainly could be) it was just something that made him feel really good about himself. 

He always knew he loved making Louis happy, and he did whatever he could to accomplish that task, no matter what. He cooked for him and gave him presents and told him how much he loved him and massaged his shoulders (or blew him) when he was feeling stressed. He allowed Louis to take care of him, running him baths and doing the laundry and taking the garbage out, unloading the dishwasher or stopping by the store to buy Harry new socks when he was in need of them. 

He made Louis happy in the bedroom as well, he learned how to give excellent blow jobs and showed Louis all his new tricks often and for as long as the older boy wanted him to. He learned how to touch his boyfriend in all the places he liked, learned how to kiss him, look at him through his eyelashes to make him do just that, learned how to moan and cry out in ways that had Louis going crazy. He learned how to use his body to his full advantage, flaunted it and let Louis touch and taste whatever and whenever he pleased. 

Louis had full access to everything Harry had at all hours of the day. He let Louis try whatever he wanted, let him fuck him in this new position he’d heard about or in this room, on that table, against that wall, in that shower, in that bed or in front of that mirror. 

Louis didn’t take advantage of him, he knew why Harry was always willing to do whatever he requested, sexual or not, and he refused to abuse it for his own reasons, which had to do with his morals as person, Harry had figured out. Louis also knew that Harry would step out of his comfort zone for him, but if he felt well and truly uncomfortable, he would say so. 

What Louis didn’t know, however, was that spurring on this constant desire to make Louis happy was the names. To Louis, they weren’t a thing, just something he could call Harry that was more personal and intimate, something that he could show Harry how much he cared about him with that was just between the two of them. He never thought much about it, they just rolled off his tongue with such easy familiarity that he spared no thoughts toward the subject. 

 

He knew how much Harry liked it, yes, but he didn’t know why Harry liked it so much. He would use it to his advantage sometimes, like when their bodies were so in tune with each other and slicked with sweat, their skin sliding together like it belonged that way, breath heavy and pupils completely blown. He would use it to bring Harry over the edge, a low “you feel so good around me, baby,” or “god, you look so beautiful all spread out for me, darling,” or even “you love my cock stretching you out, pounding into you, huh? Don’t you honey?” whispered in his ear all it really took to bring Harry to orgasm. 

He used it to get him riled up, voice low in his throat as he told Harry all the things he would do to him. (“Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week, babe,” or “I wanna fuck your pretty face and come all over it, love,” or “I promise I’m gonna make you come with just my fingers and my tongue in your tight little whole, you beautiful boy,”) Though, it wasn’t always dirty, even when it was. 

“Mm, Harry, you’re so beautiful, baby,” Louis would moan as he slid into him repeatedly, slowly but deeply, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Harry would write beneath him and curl his toes, panting on Louis’ neck and grinding down hard on his dick. 

“Y-yeah,” He would moan, arching his back. 

“So gorgeous,” Louis would continue, stroking the younger boys cock in time with his thrusts. “Look so good like this, so good,” he would pant, watching the way the words seem to make Harry move into a slightly different headspace and loving it, loving that he could do that. 

“You’re my beautiful boy, Hazza, so gorgeous,” he’d repeat and Harry would come, exploding all over his own stomach and Louis’ hand, moaning and wriggling around on the bed, moving his hips in small circles, trying to prolong his orgasm. Louis followed shortly after and he would wrap Harry up in his arms once they’d cleaned up and tell him how beautiful he was until they both fell asleep. 

Harry got off on it, it made him unbearably hot under the collar, but it wasn’t necessarily the things Louis said to him as opposed to why he said them. Even if it wasn’t the case, Harry believed Louis called him those things because he had done good, whether it be cooking dinner or hitting his high notes or sucking him off. 

 

It wasn’t purely a sex thing, the names made him feel special and lit up inside, and after a few months of dating Harry gave up the pretense that it didn’t affect him all that much. He once confided in Niall as to why his face had lit up when Louis had yelled from the other room, “Do you know where my white jumper is, love?” and Niall had worried that Louis took it too far, got off on dominating him and making him do whatever he wanted the younger boy to do. He calmed down when Harry told him it was kind of opposite, that Louis didn’t do that and didn’t even know Harry loved it so much. After the initial concern was gone, Niall teased him endlessly about it, laughing at the way his face would turn red whenever Louis used one of his names in front of him. 

When he was “baby,” he was important. When he was “Harry,” he still felt loved, but his own name didn’t give him the warm feelings fluttering at the base of his belly that “sweet pea” did. 

 

His mum even noticed, watching one morning as Louis kissed him on the shoulder as he passed by him in the kitchen on his way to the fridge, asking him casually if he wanted “orange or apple, sweetheart?” She raised her eyebrows at Harry’s complete change in demeanor, whereas before Louis had appeared he was grouchy and tired, but now he was smiling and saying “Apple please,” and turning back to making their tea, this time minus the scowl. 

She brought it up once, asked him how Louis was able to completely alter his mood with just a few simple words and he merely shrugged and said he made him happy and left it at that, but Anne knew it went deeper than that. 

She didn’t dig though, left Harry to moon over the older boy and let it be. Over time, it grew sort of interesting to all of them, watching Louis and Harry interact with each other, observing the way Louis was able to make Harry grin stupidly by just dropping a simple nickname. They were oddly fascinated by it, it became a weird little game for them; seeing how riled up they could get Harry and then watching Louis put his hand on his shoulder or around his waist or simply touching his fingertips to the inside of his wrist and saying “its okay, darling,” and Harry would cool down in an instant. 

If Harry had to make a list, (not that he ever had, no,) “darling” was his favorite, followed closely by “baby.” Harry liked being taken care of, especially by Louis. He liked to be the center of Louis’ attention, not in an obnoxious way, but in the way that made him feel important. When he was “darling” he was doing something sweet or adorable or cute, and that made his insides glow to think Louis thought of him that way. Being “darling” always meant Louis’ full attention was on him, focused solely on what Harry was doing, saying, how he was acting. It meant Louis was watching him, that Harry was most important. 

 

When he was “baby” he was sexy, or cute, or cuddly, or vulnerable, a wide variety of things could be behind the use of that one. That was one of the reasons he liked it so much, its meaning could change drastically just by Louis’ tone of voice. 

 

Harry had broken all of the names down like this, deducing their meaning and figuring out what he did that allowed him the pleasure of being called these things. “Sweetheart” could be general, (as could “baby,”) but it was most used when Harry needed comforting, when he was feeling bad about himself or his voice or his appearance, when the hate was getting to him and his self confidence was low; when he was tired or sick or in one of those moods that requires soft voices and touches. 

“Babe” was more public, less intimate then the rest, and Harry usually got this one when they were in front of other people or early in the morning when Louis was too tired for bigger words. “Babe” wasn’t as much just theirs, and that alone made it just a tiny bit less special. It could also be sexy though, teasing, flirtatious. “Babe” in this way was a promise that made Harry jittery and excited; the butterflies always beat their wings a little harder when Louis stared at him with bedroom eyes and called him “babe.” 

“Honey” (like “sweetheart”) was used when Harry was vulnerable, or when they were away from each other and missed the company of the other. It was also used in rough sex; the contrast of the name and Louis’ rough actions always turned him on immensely. 

“Sweet pea” was few and far between, less common than the others, used in the quiet moments of the night when everything but each other was uncertain, or when Harry was ill or homesick. It comforted, wrapped Harry in a blanket of tenderness that tickled his insides. 

“Sweetie” was almost the same, though a bit more common in its usage, but not as common as many of the others. “Love” was also general and extremely common, used in casual conversations and questions such as “Will you pick up some tea when you’re out please, love?” It didn’t rouse suspicion when used in front of fans, it was used by Brits with friends and strangers alike all the time. 

“Pumpkin” was when Harry was being pampered, lavished with attention and kisses and cuddles. It was never sex, and Harry liked it that way. It was a quiet word, gentle in its usage and soft in its meaning. 

“Bub” was one of Harry’s secret favorites, usually used when they had been through a long day or interviews or performances, when the five of them had been talking all day and Louis had used far too many words in one short span, his tongue getting tied when he tried to produce “babe” or “baby.” Harry loved it because it made him feel important enough to be spoken to after so many hours of talking, and it almost always meant Louis was sleepy, and Harry loved sleepy Louis. 

 

The list was endless, private little names and noises shared between them, there for the two of them and only them. For Harry, pet names were private, intimate things that weren’t to be used by people who didn’t love each other. They were private, yes, but that didn’t mean Harry didn’t love being called most of them in front of other people. 

 

There was a weird part of him that wanted other people to see he belonged to Louis, that he was Louis’ boy and no one else’s. He wanted them to see how much they loved each other, how well they knew each other, how close they were. He wanted them to catch a small glimpse into their love life, wanted them to see just a little bit of what happened behind closed doors, where they were free to be themselves. 

He loved the attention he caught when Louis would call him by something special and everyone around them would immediately know. Louis was his, and he was Louis’ and they called each other things like “Honey, baby, sweetheart.” 

He was proud of his relationship, proud of how in tune they were with each other. He wanted to show it off, wanted to show Louis off and wanted Louis to show him off. He loved being flaunted and Louis loved flaunting, they were the perfect balance. 

They held each other together like glue, so naturally intertwined it was almost impossible for outsiders to understand they way they worked. Ironically, it was almost impossible for them to understand the way they worked. Harry had fleeting moments in which he thought he knew but they would escape him, always leaving him with one theory: the names. 

The names were the rope that bound them together, it made both of them feel wanted and important and loved. In a weird way they were the base of their relationship, what kept them both grounded. It was what reminded them that they always had someone to go home to, a shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold. They kept them strong, through all the hate and the backlash and the cracking down of management. Because it didn’t matter where they went or what they did, as long as Harry was Louis’ “darling” they were both safe.


End file.
